


Does the Red God Dream?

by AnnabethBlack



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, BrOTP Thoros & Beric, Bromance, Death, Fluff, Gen, Grief, M/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 06:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnabethBlack/pseuds/AnnabethBlack
Summary: “Thoros,” Beric wiggled his arms up to gently shake his friend’s shoulders. “Thoros are you awake?”“Well I am now,” Thoros groaned in response although his eyes remained closed. “What is it?”“Thoros, does the Red God dream?”It started with a memory and ended with a miracle. Beric processes the loss of Thoros and questions whether the Red God is capable of dreaming.





	Does the Red God Dream?

Beric lay awake, staring at the shadows from the fire as they flickered on the cave ceiling. A few feet away Thoros snored peacefully, the occasional drop of rum spilling from the half empty glass bottle he clutched in his hand. With a furrowed brow, Beric turned to look at his sleeping friend. He seemed so peaceful and as much as he hated to wake him, Beric couldn’t stand to be alone with his thoughts any longer. Scrambling out from under his pile of furs, Beric tucked himself between Thoros and his wine bottle.

“Thoros,” Beric wiggled his arms up to gently shake his friend’s shoulders. “Thoros are you awake?”

“Well I am now,” Thoros groaned in response although his eyes remained closed. “What is it?”

“Thoros, does the Red God dream?” Beric asked quietly, almost embarrassed by his question.

“What rubbish are you asking? I’m still half asleep.” Thoros grumbled, not opening his eyes.

“Do you think R’hllor dreams?” Beric repeated, louder this time, but he still lacked confidence.

“Why would I know that?” Thoros replied.

“I just…” Beric trailed off, returning his gaze once more to the ceiling.

“Come here, you fool,” Thoros grabbed hold of Beric and pulled him closer, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Go to sleep. Perhaps R’hllor will answer you in a dream.”

 

But the Lord of Light had not answered him in a dream. Not that night at least. How long ago had that been now? Far too long. It was a scene from when they had been living in the Hollow Hill, a scene from what felt like years ago. How many times had he died since then? Enough times that the fog of death had blurred the memory. Yet somehow Thoros, sleepy and drunk as he had been, shone clearly through the murk.

The things that Beric would sacrifice to be back there now, tucked away safely in Thoros’ arms.

But that was impossible. For one, Beric lay on the brink of unconsciousness under a thousand feet of snow, the debris of the wall crushing his rib cage. More importantly however, his priest’s body lay charred and lifeless miles away. For all of the times Thoros had saved Beric’s life, for all of the times his friend had prayed to the Red God to restore Beric’s life, Beric’s prayers went unanswered. His silent cries, pleas, and bargains for the return of his companion were ignored. Instead he was treated to a battle against the army of the dead in which he had barely escaped with his life.

He had not wanted to escape with his life.

Not if Thoros was not climbing on to the dragon beside him. But the Red God had deemed that Beric must live. Why? What was the point if he was just to die now, crushed by ice under a broken wall he had no chance of protecting? This had not been what R’hllor had shown him. This was not what the flames had foretold. Surely this could not be part of his plan. Beric wanted to doubt that the Lord of Light would revive him time and time again only to kill him here and now, alone in the freezing cold. Yet there was an overwhelming lack of alternatives. Anyone who might have saved him would undoubtedly be slain and recruited in the army of the dead.

Beric could see no light, no hope of escape. R’hllor had abandoned him to freeze to death. At least he would re-join his friend soon, assuming that the Red God granted life after death. Despite all of his trips beyond life the Lord of Light had never let Beric glimpse what was on the other side and Thoros had never spoken about it. Now Beric wished that he had. The idea of Thoros being erased from existence, the idea that he was nothing more than a pile of rotting flesh beyond the wall, it brought tears to Beric’s eye. In his final moments, Beric imagined his priest being honoured by R’hllor for his service. He imagined his friend reborn in the divine flames of an eternal afterlife. It was more comforting that way.

As Beric’s icy grey eye began to close, he welcomed the familiar sensation of life slipping from his grasp.

_ Thoros, I’ll see you soon. _

 

Beric awoke with a start in an unfamiliar room. He was slumped in a wooden chair staring at a murky brown floor. As he lifted his head Beric winced at a discomfort in his neck. Clearly he had been in the awkward position for quite some time. Looking around, everything was the same shade of reddish brown, like dried blood, veiled in thick smoke from the flames. There was no detail to anything. It was all just plain. There was nothing, no one but Beric coughing and squinting in his chair.

And then suddenly he was no longer alone.

Beric blinked and out of nowhere an unlit funeral pyre had materialised, complete with a corpse lying stone still on top, just a few feet in front of him. Even through the smoke Beric recognised the dead figure. After all those years together Beric could recognize Thoros’ figure anywhere.

Lurching off of the chair, Beric threw himself at the pyre, scrambling on top to hunch over Thoros’ chest. Trembling hands caressed Thoros’ eternally sleeping face, brushing tattered auburn hair out of the way of closed eyes.

“I’m sorry I failed you and our god.” Beric managed to choke out a whisper.

A tear fell from his face on to Thoros’ pale cheek. A shaky breath escaped Beric as he pressed his lips to Thoros’ temple. Desperate hands clung to Thoros’ clothes. Beric wanted to curl up and lay beside his companion but a voice called out, stopping Beric in his tracks.

“You did not fail him.”

Beric turned to see the Red Woman standing in the middle of the now smokeless room, right where Beric’s chair had been.

“Thoros died because I did not protect him from that snow beast. I failed him.” Beric shouted hoarsely, doubling over with the agony of his guilt.

“You did not fail the Lord of Light which is far more important.” The Red Woman corrected them both.

“How? I- I’m…” Beric stopped and thought hard. Flashes of memories, of white dragons and an army of the dead flooded his mind. He felt a vast weight on his chest like tonnes of snow crushing him in to oblivion. “I’m dead and my priest cannot bring me back. There is nothing more I can do for R’hllor. I have failed him.”

“You’re wrong,” The Red Woman smiled, a sight that made Beric feel overwhelmed with nausea. “You brought Clegane to Jon Snow. You helped him get a white walker across the wall. You succeeded in your mission.”

“You mean to tell me that I was brought back from the dead  _ six _ times just to bring  _ Sandor fucking Clegane _ to Jon Snow?” Beric screamed.

He pounced off of the pyre and stalked towards the Red Woman who neither spoke nor lost her composure.

“What about the visions? What about our mission beyond the wall? We have not served our purpose here!” Beric yelled.

His hand reached out for a moment, as though to grab the Red Woman and cast her down to the floor. Yet he did not. Instead they both watched his fist clench and tremble in the air before it fell back to Beric’s side. He stalked away, fuming with enough rage to fill the entire room with smoke once more.

“Jon Snow is the Prince that was Promised to us by the Red God. He has been blessed by the Lord of Light and  _ you _ helped him. You both did.” The Red Woman explained unhelpfully.

“Six times!  _ Six _ ! And for what? To help Jon Snow in a single pitiful fight? To lose- To lose my  _ best _ friend and only- only love…” Beric couldn’t go on. He fell to his knees and tried not to choke on the ball of emotions stuck in his throat.

“You both did so well.” The Red Woman whispered, placing a hand on Beric’s shoulder.

At her touch Beric felt the flame of unadulterated rage ignite within him. All of those dreams of fire and light, all of those visions of a greater purpose; all of the darkness of death and the loss of memories; every single promise and dream. It was all gone. R’hllor had taken every last thing from him.

“Does the Red God dream?” Beric muttered, his voice harsh and low.

“What?” The Red Woman retracted her hand as Beric turned to glare at her.

“Does the Red God dream?”Beric spat, his words louder and sharper than before.

“I don’t understand.” The Red Woman shook her head and retreated a few paces.

“It is not enough,” Beric shouted. “It is not enough to say that we fulfilled our purpose. It is not enough to say that we are done here. I was resurrected, my memories replaced with dreams of serving the Red God. I am not done in my duty and neither is he!” Beric flung an angry hand out to point at Thoros, still unmoving on his pyre.

“What are you going to do? You’re dead.” The Red Woman scoffed.

“I’m going to fulfil my promise to the Red God and I’m taking Thoros with me.” Beric growled.

He turned and stalked back over to Thoros, planting a final kiss on his friend’s forehead.

“I’ll see you soon.” Beric whispered.

“Beric, Beric stop!” The Red Woman cried out. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

Beric didn’t answer.

Dragging himself away from Thoros, Beric scanned the room. There was nothing other than his companions. Nothing but him, them, and the flames.

The idea he had was a wild one but to Beric it made total sense. Casting one last glance at Thoros, Beric clenched his fist and dived straight in to the flames.

 

With a sharp gasp, Beric opened his eye to find himself still buried in the rubble of the destroyed Wall. Above him there were shifts in the snow and ice. Grunting sounds made their way to his frostbitten ears. Someone was digging him out.

Before Beric could decide whether to start digging up or to let himself be rescued the snow above him was scooped away. Above him stood Thoros, paler than snow with the brilliant blue eyes of a white walker.

It didn’t matter to him that Thoros was part of the army of the dead. It didn’t matter to him that Thoros would likely try to kill him once he had hold of Beric’s arm. The Red God had given them both a second chance. Beric believed with his whole heart that he would return the favour and save Thoros just the second he got out of the blasted hole. Then, once they had saved each other they would re-join Jon Snow and save the world. Beric had seen it in the fire so it must be true.

“Give me a hand, would you? We’re not done yet.” Beric called up, a smile on his face.

Thoros cocked his head to the side and peered down at Beric. After a moment he frowned and replied with an ungodly screech. It was a response which only served to make Beric, believing himself to be resurrected for a seventh time, laugh.

 

Does the Red God dream? No, but he provides his believers with hope and visions and dreams to get them through, for the night is dark and full of terrors and the sun had set on Beric Dondarrion’s life for the final time. 

  
  



End file.
